


seasons

by litra



Series: Hourglass [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Desert, Gen, Seasons, Tatooine (Star Wars), Tatooine Slave Culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:34:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22272637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/litra/pseuds/litra
Summary: Tattooine didn't have seasons in the traditional sense.
Series: Hourglass [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1486835
Comments: 3
Kudos: 75





	seasons

Tattooine didn't have seasons in the traditional sense.

On Naboo there were five seasons. The Rains started the year, covering the land in low clouds and waves of mist, water soaking into everything without ever feeling heavy or fierce. Then the rains would fade away and the flowers would come. Spring on Naboo was a riot of colors. The rivers would turn white or pink or yellow, covered in flower petals and pollen. The growth would shift into what off-worlders called summer and native Nubians called the green. Eventually the green would give way to the true summer. A heat would settle over the land and the air would once more become sodden, though for a different reason. Rot always tried to take hold during second summer, the crops besieged by a hundred different types of insects. When the air couldn't hold a another drop, the summer would break. Winds wrapped around the world and the temperature dropped overnight. Autumn colored the landscape, this time with yellows and browns. Eventually the winds would blow themselves out, and let the rain settle in to start the cycle again. 

Growing up on Naboo Padme had always been aware of the time of year, and how long had passed. She'd lost a bit of that on Coruscant. The senate didn't count time by the seasons, but by election schedules. 

Tattoine had seasons, but it took Padme a long time to recognize them. The only farmers on this sandy rock gathered moisture, not plants. The plants that did survive in the desert didn't have the same cycles Padme had grown up with. 

Race days grew less frequent, that was the first thing Padme noticed. The almost regular schedule was interrupted by one sandstorm, then another, until the sandstorms came more often than the races. Padme noticed when the wind stopped. She didn't know what to make of it at first, but the other slaves just nodded and got on with their jobs. 

Shutters were changed out. Awnings were repaired and the whole compound seemed to shift. For almost a ten-day people would pause and squint up at the sky, testing the air. 

When the wind started up again it was cooler, and came from the south. Padme found herself getting turned around, she'd gotten so used to a north-eastern wind. 

The day it rained Padme felt the first drops and thought she was crying. She looked up and the haze over the suns wasn't from dust or sand but proper clouds. She stood frozen in awe as the first drops darkened the ground. Then Arhill shoved a shallow bowl into her hands and she got to work. No time to celebrate when there was free water falling from the sky.

The rain lasted less than ten minutes. By the time in petered off Padme was soaked to her skin, her thin clothing sticking to her arms and legs. Every spare container in the compound had been set out. Even the awnings helped, the waxy coating funneling rain from the rooftops into tall glazed jugs. Padme took off her shirt and wrung out the water, calling out in celebration to the other women in the kitchen courtyard. Tossing her head back and laughing, not caring in the least if anyone saw her in just a bra.

The rain came four more times that season. It was a bountiful year.


End file.
